Matches
by Taly-chan
Summary: Her matches torched your wedding magazines. Tag for 2x06. Companion for Mean.


Disclaimer: Rookie Blue is not mine. I'm just playing with the characters.

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><p><em>Her matches torched down your wedding magazines<em>

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><p><strong>Matches<strong>

You are about to get married. In a week. And you've asked your best friend to be the maid of honor, and your kid witness is going to be O.K., and she's going to help you pick a dress, because you are about to marry a great guy, a perfect guy, that's been romancing you for the last week because he loves you so much, and can't wait anymore, so you are going to speed things up and marry as soon as possible, so you need to get some money from Jo and go pick some magazines.

You get a matchbox instead.

_No. You are over-thinking it. _You are so full of faith in your fiancé, you can't even bring yourself to be suspicious for the first questions. Your stomach turns to lead as soon as Jo faces you. For a woman leading interrogations, she sure is an awful deflector. You go for the direct hit, the important question, and she looks like she's going to cry. You are sure you should be the one feeling like crying, but you are just full. Like you are breathing in and not out, and the air in your lungs is actually plutonium, heavy and about to make you explode. In what, you are not sure. You are more than happy to run away from the room when Jo tells you to instead of answering.

The dizziness hits as soon as you close the door. _You are over-thinking it. You are over-thinking it. You are over-thinking it. You are over-thinking it. You are over-thinking it. _

You get you phone out of your pocket and call Luke. Because he's a good guy, a great guy, and he loves you, and can't wait to marry you, and you are about to get magazines to pick a wedding dress out of. He doesn't pick up. He's probably busy. _And y__ou are over-thinking it. _

You go pick magazines because you are over-thinking it, and you fiancé, almost husband, loves you, and wants to marry you in a week, and your witness, who is going to be O.K., and have a good life, is going to help you pick a dress.

You come back to an open door, a bleeding Jo, and an absent witness. You feel cold settle deep in you soul, and the high velocity spinning in your mind just stops, cold, and you remind Jo that your witness need protection, _or she'll end up cold too._

Jo tries to talk to you, but you wont engage. You can't. Because y_ou are __**not **__over-thinking it. You are __not __**thinking**__. _You don't **want** to. Because Luke... because he's... because you are about...

Things go fast. Your witness is O.K., even if you have to restrain her from going to the guy that was about to kill her, because that's what you actually believed, right? And it's happening, right? You are ready to leave the station when Jo gets to you again, but even before you can blow her she tells you the girl is deluding herself into covering for her boyfriend.

Just then, you feel like your day has been an over sweetened cup of coffee, that got cold just before you got to finish the first swallow, and just now the bitter, sickening, taste is catching up to you. You carry the grimace to the interview like you actually drank it.

The girl is so naive. So young. So in love. So sure that her guy is a great guy, that he was coming to get her, that they would live together. You snort because you want to cry. You can't believe that she believes it, that she's convinced herself so throughly.

You look at the double mirror, at Jo that's surely on the other side. At yourself. And you give up.

_Your witness is not going to be O.K..._

Jo calls to you once you are outside. She looks sad. You just feel empty. Nothing left to make any explosion. Her matches torched down your wedding magazines, you just have to get rid of the cinders now.

You leave.

You leave the house. You leave Luke.

_He screwed up (He's not such a great guy, a perfect guy), he's sorry (he's been romancing you for the last week), he loves you (you got that one right)._

You left the ring in the safe-box.

_You are not about to get married._

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>I think I hurt myself writing this one. Got really into it.


End file.
